The Formidable Destiny of Robin Wilson
by Mat Glue
Summary: PostH. Robin Wilson is a respectable muggle that did the unexpected. One would think he is dull, an average man, with not much ambition in life. The fact is, he's married to Hermione Granger. How come?
1. Mr and Mrs Wilson

**The Formidable Destiny Of Robin Wilson **

Robin Wilson was a happy man indeed. He and his loveable wife lived happily in a small house in Plymouth's vicinity, in the south west of Britain. It had a small patch of grass at the front, and a garden at the back, like most little houses in that street. Of course, the purple shutters had made more than one respectable citizen cringe, but Robin had gone with it, for whatever his wife wanted, he would sure be willing to give it her, even if it was purple paint. For he really did love his wife dearly, even if her taste in colours was outright bad.

It is now three in the afternoon and he is tending to the back garden, wearing brilliant green gardening gloves, a thick red apron while planting their new apple tree, a marriage gift.

Now, Robin was indeed a normal, respectable citizen, who never had been in any kind of trouble, who had the soundless of sleeps, and the most charming smile. He worked at the Secondary school, not far down the street, as a maths teacher. He never did anything weird, except once, getting married to the most particular woman. Not only did she have a strong character but she was also a force of nature to be reckoned with.

She had the most incredible hair, long curls she would tie back with the help of a worn elastic from Boots. She had a simple complexion. She was neither beautiful, nor ugly, but a plain face which could only be described as nice. It demanded respect. She'd became quite famous for her bossy manners, but would still keep cool with old McGardener, their neighbour, who had the bad habit of letting his pet's excrement's on the Wilson's drive way. "I can't stop my Mulciber from doing his business where he likes, Mrs Wilson" Mister McGardener would reply at her stiff posture early each morning, when they would cross each other's path as she took her car out from the garage to go to work. However, by seven o'clock she would still be off and gone.

Mrs Wilson's work drove her hard, her daily schedule releasing her only after eight at night. She would leave a loving note to her husband on the kitchen table, each morning, next to his breakfast bowl, and call him around four in the afternoon when she had her coffee brake. No one knew what her job was, and it was the first of the list of weird things about her.

She danced like a scarlet woman, insulted Robin Wilson's mother to her face (no one ever did that), refused to join the patchwork club (who had heard of a respectable wife not joining the patchwork club!), painted her shutters purple (what bad taste!), ignored the gossip, took karate lessons (now, whatever for?), could not cook a single meal, (dear dear, did she never take domestic science class back in school?), furiously protested when Mrs Faggot declared that she ought to have children soon and not mess around with work, and least but not all, became Mrs Wilson to everyone's surprise.

Now you see, Robin had been the calmest of children, a smart kid with small to little ambition. However, when he met his wife to be, it all changed. He became a little eccentric, took to smoking his pipe, buying dozens and dozens of red roses (and so the rumour says sexy lingerie), would not live at his mother's house anymore, followed karate lessons as well, and went disappearing from to time without warning. This wasn't worthy of Mrs Wilson's only son, who had brought him up on her own on the model of the Old Ways (schooling at home, the boy's choir at the nearby Church, Sunday School). She had wanted to make him a man of god, just like his father. She had faltered, she would declare; it was her greatest loss when Robin finally got married to that petulant woman.

But Robin was most content with how things had run, and managed to sway his mother's opinion a little by getting married in Church, under God's watchful eye. So, in the end, Robin wed Hermione Granger, who then became the proud Hermione Wilson. Shortly after, they moved in their small, cosy house with a back garden and a patch of green in front.

We can only guess how it came to be: a chance encounter, maybe, then a candlelight dinner followed by friendship and then love, and finally the routine of marriage. While Robin was the normal, life thirsty young man, Hermione really had something particular; she was a witch, and a famous one at that.

Robin had discovered this when he'd visited her without notice. He had entered the second floor flat on tiptoes, flowers in hand, ready to surprise her. Well, he hadn't been warned that there had been a surprise in store for him. He found the kitchen bewitched, magically cleaning itself while Hermione had been flicking a piece of wood about, muttering strange words. Robin was ashamed to confess that he fainted on the spot, an event he would later deny. Well, instead of running away like a fool when he finally woke up, he saw Hermione in a new light. It increased his belief that they were meant to be. The rest is history.

On the chimney mantle piece, an innocent looking picture had been propped up next to the silver antique snuffbox (his grand-father was the last to use it) with the old Wilson crest engraved on its surface, passed on from generation to generation. The picture stood still, three friendly faces looking out, their eyes glinting with mischief, happiness and content, posing on their last day of term, still wearing their black school uniforms. One had striking red hair, the other had gleaming green eyes, and last, between the two boys, was Hermione, looking much younger than today, with her bushy brown hair. Her friends were Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. They were smiling. Their fate hadn't turned out to be as pleasant.

Hermione had told Robin about Harry's passing, how she had never really managed to recover from his death. In Ron's case, Robin had had the pleasure of meeting the man in person. Chaos issued, as Robin soon understood that he had become a rival in the chase of Hermione's heart. Ron had never quite forgiven Hermione from marrying Robin, and Robin understood his animosity, which only served to fuel the wizard's anger.

Being married to a witch had its ups and downs. Hermione had always been frustrated by the fact that her husband would never be aloud to approach any wizarding building, never enter the Leaky Cauldron, or Diagon Alley; not after the Ministry Act on Muggle Circulation was passed. It minimised contact between the two worlds, the muggle and magical one. Hermione had fought long against it, still did in fact, but the Ministry wouldn't sway. She finally drew out of the magical community, severing many ties, but not all of them. She was still in touch with the large Weasley Family, and a couple of useful contacts.

So, it was now the summer holidays, and Robin was off work for the moment, enjoying the warm afternoon gardening and talking to Mister McGardener who would pop his head over the fence every so often to have a friendly chat. Robin was quite enjoying his afternoon. When the clock struck five, he went inside to prepare tea, and had Mrs Faggot over (she had been passing by out of 'chance' and literally invited herself in for a cup of something and a piece of cake he had made that morning).

"Is _dear_ Hermione around today?" she asked, her beady eyes investigating the white tilled kitchen, trying to find any sign that Hermione had skipped work today.

Robin smiled warmly, knowing where this conversation would finally lead. "No, she's at work today. She won't be back until eight, Mrs Faggot. Why, did you wish to talk to her?" His tone was pleasant, amusement tainting his words.

Mrs Faggot bristled, taking a minuscule bite from the fruitcake. "Mh... this is delicious. I suppose _you_ made it," she told him. "Has Hermione got around to cooking yet?" She had ignored Robin's question.

"In fact she has," Robin confessed. "She made a meatloaf last night. But have you come around to speak of Hermione's non-existent culinary skills or is it something else, Mrs Faggot. What brings you along?" He fingered his plain golden ring, something he would often do out of sheer spite, so that Mrs Faggot could have a good look at it so she could keep her criticism in check.

"Well, I'm having a barbecue next Wednesday, and I thought _naturally_, that you might like to join us in our festivities. Maybe your _mother_ would to come down for the event. Geraldine will be there, _of course_." She was smiling broadly now, clearly proud of her idea. But Robin could see the scheme behind it all.

Geraldine was Mrs Faggot's daughter. She and Robin and grown up together. Their friendship had consisted of her ordering him around, being snobbish and all, util she realised that Robin wasn't that bad after all and was quite a handsome young fellow. Geraldine was, pretty, single, and available. Since then, Mrs Faggot had tried to put him up with her daughter, but to no avail. She didn't stop trying even after Robin married Hermione, to Hermione's frustration.

"Now, Mrs Faggot, I thought you knew that Hermione and Mother aren't on the best of terms. Besides, Hermione and I have already got plans of our own. As you are aware, it's her first day off work since last month, and I've decided to take her out into town for the day. But I'm sure Mother would be pleased to come down just for you. I'll call her tonight and make arrangements."

Mrs Faggot's smile thinned. Mrs Wilson senior was not the most pleasant woman either. In fact, she despised the mother just as much as Hermione. "What a good idea!" she said, but her voice was a little throaty with disappointment.

The cordless phone rang. "That must be Hermione calling. If you will excuse me." Robin got up and took the telephone into the next room, taking the call.

"Hello darling, how you're doing? Not overdoing yourself I hope..." Robin laughed a little at his wife's reply. "Thought so... Nah, don't worry." He took a peek in the kitchen at Mrs Faggot who was pretending she wasn't listening to the conversation. He closed the door for good measure. "Mrs Faggot came around for tea inviting Mother and us to a barbecue next Wednesday...Of course not! And I've told her so. Wednesday is our special day out, I wouldn't forget."

Robin approached the chimney's mantelpiece, eyeing the framed photos, the one with Hermione and her school friends, and another taken at their wedding. She was wearing a well-cut gown (without lace, she refused to have any lace on it, besides, Robin couldn't stand lace), flowers in her hair looking absolutely gorgeous, and he at her arm, grinning foolishly. He took this picture and sat down on the couch, gazing at it fondly as he listened to his wife on the telephone.

"Yes, she did mention Geraldine. She still has hope. Unfounded hope that is," he added for good measure, or else Hermione would be having his hide. "No worry. Maybe I should take the wedding photo into the kitchen. She might finally acknowledge it... Mh...It's to consider. But it's a fat chance if you ask me... I'll make something nice for supper. And then maybe some..." A smirk spread on his face at the thought of tonight. "Take care till then, Hermione... I love you too, honey." The line went dead.

Robin cast the telephone aside on the couch, replaced the photo back next to the antique snuffbox and Hermione's school picture and joined Mrs Faggot in the kitchen.

* * *

Well, I really wanted to write this down. And so here it is to share. Hermione Granger has married plain Robin Wilson. Does it sound that strange? I don't think so. 

M.G.


	2. Time And Tide Waits For No Man

**Time And Tide Waits For No Man**

**°**

Robin was waiting in the living room, newspaper propped up on his knees, pipe gripped between his teeth. He'd managed to get rid of Mrs Faggot rather quickly, which left him with spare time on his hands. He'd put it to use preparing supper, chucking last night's meat loaf out (it really had been that terrible) and cleaning up the house. Hermione and Robin had agreed that they (well, she) shouldn't use magic for such small tasks, first, because Hermione always took pride in her handy work, and second, they couldn't afford the neighbours finding out she was a witch.

They had painted the walls themselves; Robin had agreed on Pompeii red for the living room, giving it a warm atmosphere, Hermione had chosen yellow for their room (Robin didn't protest), they'd left the kitchen as they had found it, with white large tiles. Hermione had wanted to paint flowers on them, but once Robin pointed out his Mother had done the same to her kitchen, she dropped the idea immediately shooting him a dark look to warn him he shouldn't make any jokes on her taste. The tension had left once he gave her a smile and a kiss.

Hearing the car pull into the driveway, he folded the newspaper and abandoned it on the couch with the telephone. Putting his pipe out (and opening the window a little to clear off the smoke) he jumped to the front door and opened it just when Hermione was about to step through. He took her suitcase and summer jacket and put them away in the closet. While he did that Hermione had slumped down on the couch, exhausted, hand against her forehead.

"I'm so glad to be back home!" she said just as Robin entered the living room. Crouching down beside her, he unlaced her shoes and put them aside and instead slipped on Hermione's favourite slippers. Robin guessed she'd had those slippers ever since Hogwarts, and hadn't had the heart to throw them out. The green and red striped tissue was a little ripped at the back, they were slightly to large for her, but they were still going strong.

Robin sat next to his wife and enveloped her in a hug, which she returned gratefully. "Missed you honey," he told her.

"What's for supper?" she asked, "I can smell something good cooking." Hermione sniffed the air, her small nose twitching slightly. She went to get up, but Robin still had his arms around her waste and brought her back down on his lap. He had to brush away Hermione's heavy locks to place a kiss on her neck.

"It won't be ready for another hour or so," he told her kindly.

"Is that so?" She arched an eyebrow, suggestion in her voice. She let him explore her neck with butterfly kisses. "That gives me time enough to... have a SHOWER!"

Robin groaned as Hermione escaped his grasp and skipped to the bedroom's bathroom. He soon heard the water running and Hermione's singing and whistling under the water. He was the one that had taught her how to whistle. He soon got up to close the open window, not before something managed to catch his eye in the back garden.

The sun was now descending behind the horizon, the garden washed in shadow. However, it was still light enough for Robin to make out the outlines of a man next to the back garden's small white metal gate. Robin squinted.

"Who's there?" he asked. Just as he blinked, the figure was gone, the garden was left empty.

He was just a muggle, but he didn't need to be a wizard either to know that something strange was about.

"Honey?" called Robin as he stepped into their room, noticing Hermione's discarded clothes. He picked them up and dropped them in the washing basket before making his way to the bathroom. "Hermione?"

"Yes honey?" She was still in the bathtub, the flowery plastic curtain drawn around her.

"There was someone stalking in the back garden."

Hermione's head popped out from between the curtains, her long brown hair dripping wet, soaking the bathroom mat at the side of the tub as she leaned over. "What?" she asked in alarm.

"There was someone stalking in the back garden," repeated Robin watching Hermione's face dissolve in worry.

"Give me my towel?" she asked; Robin handed it over. She disappeared back behind the curtain before stepping out carefully, still soapy, the towel wrapped around her body. She rushed out from the bathroom and back to the sitting room. She took a peek outside before walking towards the front door, opening it promptly and gazing at the several talismans that hung just over the 'Welcome' mat, above her head. Robin soon joined her, wrapping another towel around her shoulders as Hermione fingered the metal figures that were dangling.

"This one is for the protection ward," she reminded Robin, fiddling with a five-point star inscribed in a circle. "It still seems to be functioning. See how it turns green?" And indeed, it had a faint green glimmer to it, just faintly visible in the obscurity of the house's front porch. "And the pouch is untouched." Among the trinkets and protection charms was a small purple bag that held different magical herbs that Robin could hardly pronounce. It was meant to keep dark creatures away, that he knew.

"Good evening Mr and Mrs Wilson!" called Mr Gardener, waving from the house's driveway as he walked his pet.

Hermione suddenly realised that she was still dripping wet and only in a towel. She blushed, but she decided that she wouldn't transform into a mumbling fool.

"Good evening Mr Gardener," she called back, her voice steady, it even had a trace of amusement. Robin felt otherwise as he pulled Hermione back in and closed the door sharply.

"So?" asked Robin.

She shook her head. "False alert," declared Hermione, returning to the bathroom with steady strides. "It must have been a muggle trespassing or something."

Robin sighed in relief, but not without keeping a trace of worry. "Sorry, Hermione. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions so quickly."

Hermione smiled sweetly. "It's normal, we can never be too sure. Like my old Auror Tutor used to say: Constant VIGILANCE!" She taken up a bossy, manly voice, smirking as she imitated Old Mad Eye Moody. This brought out a smile on Robin's face. He remembered the chap from the wedding, and he'd said the same thing to him. _"You watch out, lad, marriage is a tricky and dangerous thing. Remember, Constant Vigilance or you'll find Granger wanting kids before tomorrow!" _Robin had thought that it had been a joke from the old man back then.

He took Hermione's soapy hand in his and kissed it, she beamed in response between the locks of tangled hair that clung to her face. He admired her under the sitting room's light, her skin gleaming wet from the shower.

"See anything you like?" asked Hermione, pleased with the attention she was receiving from her husband, coffee brown eyes sparkling.

Robin grimaced.

"What's the matter?" Hermione asked suddenly.

"Soap, in my mouth?" Robin let her go and headed to the kitchen gulping water and then spitting it out into the sink, washing the chemical taste away.

"You just spoiled the moment, honey!" sing-songed Hermione.

Robin emerged bright faced from the kitchen, hands up in surrender. "I confess. This was planned!"

Before Hermione knew what was happening, she was tackled by two strong arms and heaved over Robin's shoulder, head upside down. She trashed a little, swiping at Robin's arse.

"Put me down muggle boy! Or I'll transfigure you into a toad!" yelled Hermione threateningly.

"Or, I'm not afraid of you, witch!" declared Robin, transporting her back to the bathroom. "I'm having my way with you!" He pulled the tub's curtains open and settled Hermione down, not before spraying her with water from the shower head, towel and all. "I'll wash you myself if it's the only way to kiss you!"

"Oh, stop being such a man and join me!"

So Robin did, steeping in with Hermione, letting his clothes drench with water as he settled down with her. His clothes were the least of his worries though as he claimed Hermione's mouth, enjoying the feel of her body against his. They were soon out of breath and Robin finally sat down between Hermione's legs and let his head fall back against her chest, looking up fondly into her eyes.

"Do you know why I was so worried earlier?" he asked. Hermione waited patiently for him to tell her, knowing that he had to get his thoughts out of his system. "Because if we're attacked with magic, and wizards and such..." He sucked in some air, letting his hand stroke Hermione's cheek tenderly. "I know that I won't be able to fight back. I'll be useless, and I won't be able to stop them hurting you," he confessed.

Hermione smiled warmly. "That's sweet, Robin. But this mustn't stop you from living, you know that. Don't let feat control you, you're strong."

He nodded, in understanding. He knew that the world wasn't safe, that Hermione, even since the death of the Dark Lord of theirs, could still be a target of dark forces; for she still was the emblematic friend of Harry Potter, The-Man-That-Destroyed-You-Know-Who, and a very renown fighter of the Light side during the Second War, being the smart witch that she was.

He had encountered a Death Eater, once, and he had been frightened shitless. First stupefied, he was immobilised. The feeling of helplessness had scared him the most. He hadn't been hit by an unforgivable though, Aurors had saved him in the nick of time. The memory was still an unpleasant one. He had taken several Dreamless Droughts after that.

"I'm sorry, Robin, for the trouble I've brought upon you," said Hermione, sincerely.

"Don't be," he whispered back. "I would have done it a thousand times if it meant being able love you for just one day."

Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes. "That's cheesy, Robin."

"Doesn't mean I think any less!" he protested.

Hermione took to threading her fingers through Robin's strands of light brown-wet- hair. "That's better." She kissed him on the forehead.

"You know what?"

"What?" said Hermione.

"Don't know why I have it in my head, but it seems to fit: _Time and Tide waits for no man_. It won't stop us from being happy, and together. If it comes, it will come. Until then, lets live."

Hermione fell a little silent for a while as Robin made himself comfortable. "It was Harry's favourite quote," she told him softly, under her breath. She smiled faintly, remembering the old days. "He would usually say it once or twice a day."

"You miss him terribly, don't you?" Robin knew how big a part Harry had played in Hermione's life, she'd cared about him so much, probably more than she had even did for him. Every time she would mention him, Robin could only feel respect towards the deceased man, even though he had never had the occasion to meet Harry, only hear about him through those that had known him.

Hermione nodded. "Everyday," she confessed. "But I'm not angry or sour about it," she explained seeing in her mind's eye her dark haired friend, the way he would laugh, or how his green eyes would sparkle when he was truly happy. She looked at Robin, feeling glad that he could understand her and tolerate her babbling about Harry. Ron had never excepted it, how she would talk about Harry so openly, and so often, because of his own natural jealousy and of how he had never overcome the pain of losing his best friend. She felt free to do so with Robin, he even enjoyed it, sharing some of her pain and love for the man Harry had been.

She kissed Robin, letting her hand wonder under his shirt, feeling heat spreading from belly button and then outwards, eager for her husband to love her. Robin returned it more than willingly.

Across the street, the dark form stood still as a statue, watching the small house with the purple shutters, examining every inch with an unknown purpose. He noticed the ward's talismans dangling from the porch, tinkling in the small breeze that had settled over the cluster of houses.

"Time waits for no man," he whispered.

* * *

Harry, even though he died, will be more present that you might think! He can disappear completely, he still stays amongst the living, in thought... 


End file.
